


Siren

by CrumblingAsh



Series: Final [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Wings, Bruce Has Issues, Drabble, Hurt Tony, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:00:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrumblingAsh/pseuds/CrumblingAsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce would love to blame his return to New York on the sire bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren

 

* * *

 

 

When the story of Tony Stark’s return from Afghanistan breaks over the national news, Bruce is already in New York.

 

He would love to blame it on the sire bond, on the blood connection or chemical urge to be near the monster that turned him. Because that’s what Tony Stark is – a monster, a egomaniac, and sociopath. Bruce hates New York, hates people, hates _Tony motherfucking Stark,_ and has no reason to be here outside of the call some stupid supernatural bond he _doesn’t even fucking want-_

 

“You… I was not expecting.”

 

The voice Bruce remembers as confident and controlling is raspy, empty as it stretches across what looks like a workshop, filled with more electronics than a _Best Buy_ with barely extra room for anything else. The lights are dimmed, gleaming off of metal, but he can see _him_ , slumped in the back seat of a car too expensive to pronounce. His wings are spread behind his back, as large and crimson as Bruce remembers, though more shredded, more tired – there’s a feather on the floor.

 

The dark head tilts up, allowing Bruce the sight of brown eyes gone black in despair, lined with the red of hunger.

 

He looks as dead as he supposed to be, sunken in sorrow and decay, lips pale in withdraw and just as shaky, but he _feels right_ , smells fucking _delicious_. Bruce checks himself from stepping forward, _damn it._

 

“Come to finish it, what they started?” Stark coughs lightly on the words, and then harder, coughs until the scent of blood stabs at Bruce’s senses. “Would-wouldn’t be a challenge. Probably for the best, I remember you don’t like much of a fight.”

 

Bruce doesn’t even think – can’t think – his hand wrapped around the other man’s throat before he realizes he’s moved. He can feel the snarl of his lips, the bite of his fangs against the fragile skin as they reach out, fierce and hungry, watches Stark’s skin burn red under the strength of his grip. Something inside of him, small and in-fucking-significant, reaches out, tries to stay his fingers, but he ignores it, _can_ ignore it. The skin under his shoulders starts to stretch.

 

“But Tony,” he sneers, searing. “you _like it when I fight.”_

 

Stark coughs again, struggling under the pressure, but his limbs don’t move. He doesn’t try to stop Bruce’s rage, doesn’t grab for him, doesn’t even try to kick him off. He feels like death under Bruce’s hands.

 

_“I’m sorry.”_

 

The words are soft, fur against sandpaper; he almost doesn’t hear them. Doesn’t believe them when he does. But they’re shocking, enough to loosen his grip, enough to stop the growth on his back and the rage in his chest. The dimming eyes staring up at him don’t hold the same careless power he remembers. They hold barely anything at all.

 

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Stark chokes again, and fuck but it sounds _earnest._ “I’m sorry. _Bruce_.”

 

_Bruce._

 

He steps away, letting go completely, head pounding at he watches Stark fall back against the seat, sucking in breaths he doesn’t need but otherwise not moving, not trying for more, for retaliation – the Stark from before would have done just that. Would have fought and overpowered and held him down-

 

This Stark is nothing like the one of before.

 

“What the hell did they _do_ to you?” His fangs burn as they retract. He never has been able to keep them out for long.

 

The man just laughs, wounded and broken.

 

 

 


End file.
